


Forget Me Not

by PurplePatchwork



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Eventual Romance, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-23 02:35:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3751171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurplePatchwork/pseuds/PurplePatchwork
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gilbert has a hard time accepting his new identity after the fall of Prussia. He did not expect getting comforted by a certain foul-mouthed Italian.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The moment the first parts of the wall came crumbling down, like the glorious introduction to a new era, his face appeared in the cloud of dust.

Piercing red eyes, messy greyish white hair, stance proud and powerful with his hands firmly placed on his slender hips. But today he looked so forlorn, a child that was lost in the woods and had finally found the way home again.

His figure trembled as he looked at his little brother, worn-out and filled with the highest relief. His mouth twitched up in a crooked grin, trying to seem brave despite the glistening tears rolling down his pale cheeks.

"Hey there, little bro of mine."

Both men wept openly as they closed the distance and pulled each other into a desperate embrace, hands gripping at clothing and cries of joy escaping their quivering lips.

It was a moment of celebration, of reunion. Reunion between Prussia and Germany. Germany and Prussia. The Prussia. The one who had survived. He who was, who had been, and who still existed after all those hardships.

Only, Prussia wasn't Prussia anymore.

* * *

It wasn't an easy task for the now ex-nation to adjust to his new life. The period between the end of WWII and the fall of the Berlin Wall, he had been living with Russia, making his dissolution feel strange and unreal. It didn't really help that the Russian lived so secluded from the world, making those years after the war seem even more like a hallucinated dream.

Because of that, Prussia had difficulty getting used to his new identity. Instead of Prussia, the most awesome and amazing country ever, he was now Eastern Germany. A subordinate. Only part of a country. His army was gone, along with his responsibilities, his power, his everything.

Sometimes he would wake up, believing with his entire being that everything had just been a nightmare. That the war was still going on, and he just had to pull on his uniform ( _Prussian_ blue), and march out onto the battlefield to order his men around and attack the enemy. Those periods of delusion never lasted long, and awaking from them felt like being slapped in the face, like being thrown into a tub of ice water. He never told his brother, of course. Identity crisis or not, he was still the older sibling of the two. It wouldn't do to have Germany worrying over him.

At the moment, he was living in his brother's basement. Not always that luxurious and often a bit chilly, but he'd tried to make it his new home. He had a soft bed, a desk, a book case with the few diaries he'd been able to save from his previous home, some posters to hide the cracks in the wall. He didn't even mind the mouldy stuff in the corners. What he did mind were Italy Veneziano's occasional visits.

"Oi West! What's that heavenly smell?" the albino asked loudly the moment he walked into the kitchen. But instead of his little brother, he found the Italian nation there, stirring in a big pan with rich pasta sauce.

"Ve~ Ciao Gilbert! I came to make you some pasta!" the ditzy brunette said, smiling happily with his (beautiful) eyes closed.

Gilbert grinned as well, briefly dipping his finger into the pot to have a quick taste.

"Delicious as always Feli!" he cackled, patting the other on the head.

Northern Italy laughed in delight, and Prussia couldn't help but stare at his adorable round face. He looked away the moment Germany entered the room.

"Bruder, stop bothering Feliciano," he sighed. The blond was dressed in an impeccable suit, hair slicked back with even more gel than usual.

The Italian immediately lit up like the Fourth of July and leapt into the other's arms.

"Ve~, Luddy! Gilly wasn't bothering me, don't worry!"

The bulky blond blushed lightly, but automatically returned the hug.

Gilbert sat down at the table, watching the other two from the corners of his eyes. There was another reason the ex-nation wasn't always that happy about living in his brother's basement. Something that kept rubbing itself in his face.

For the longest of times, he'd had a major crush on Northern Italy.

It started out as something completely innocent. A bit of teasing, looking forward to his cooking, a warm fluttering in his stomach when he saw that happy smile. Over the years his infatuation grew, making him look forward to the smell of pasta and the sun, to those cute little sounds Veneziano always made. His time with Russia hadn't weakened his feelings one single bit, perhaps even enforced them.

There was only one little problem. Italy obviously preferred a more sturdy and less red-eyed German nation.

Gilbert wanted for Germany to be happy. He was the awesome big brother after all. He would never try to steal the Italian for themselves. Everyone could see those two were made for each other. That of course didn't mean his heart didn't sting painfully every time he saw them together.

"-so you can just eat that. Got it Bruder? Gilbert? Hey, East! Are you listening to me?"

The albino blinked and looked up.

"Sorry Ludwig, must've dozed off for a little bit. What were you saying?" He quickly plastered on a grin, successfully hiding his true emotions. Germany sighed while North-Italy turned off the stove, whistling a merry tune.

"I said: Feliciano and I are going to visit Japan tonight, so you can eat the pasta. My number is on the fridge if you need me, and please try not to make a mess."

The brunette re-adjusted Germany's tie and dusted off his shoulders. Gilbert averted his eyes from the loving display and gave a nod.

"Yeah, sure. Have fun you two."

Germany started saying something about it being a work-meeting, but the Italian cut him off.

"Kiku's waiting Luddy! Bye Gilbert, see you soon!"

Gilbert waved at them before the door fell shut.

Alone again. What to do?

After eating several plates of the (divine) pasta and putting the leftovers in the fridge, he dropped down onto the couch. He lazily grabbed the remote and pointed it at the small television screen in search of something interesting to watch. There wasn't.

"Piyo!"

Gilbert looked up to see his pet chick sitting on top of his head.

"Hey Gilbird! What are you doing up there kleine Engel?"

The animal flew down to his shoulder and nuzzled against his cheek.

"Piyo!"

Gilbert grinned widely.

"Call Francy-pants and Tonio for a sleepover? Great idea Gilbird!"

Yes, a meeting with the other members of the Bad Touch Trio always lifted his spirits! He sung loudly (and obnoxiously) to himself while scrambling to the phone and dialling the first number. After what seemed like forever, someone finally picked up.

"Hola! Who is this?" the cheerful voice of Spain sounded, although there was a certain edge to it.

"Yo Antonio! It is the Awesome Me!"

"Hola Gilbert! I'm sorry, but I can't talk for long. Netherland came over and he's trying to bargain over my tomatoes."

Ah, that's way he sounded so tense. The usually laid-back and happy-go-lucky nation could get quite fierce when it came to his tomatoes or weapon collection.

"Ah, that's all right. I wanted to ask you to come over, but I'll try Francis."

"Sorry amigo. Today is just not a good- Mogens, get your hands off of my Maria!"

Gilbert gulped as the call was abruptly cut off. Maria was the Spaniard's most prized axe, and he hoped Netherland knew some self-defence tactics.

"Tonio is a bit busy Gilbird… Francis it is then!"

With renewed enthusiasm he dialled the second number and waited for his other best friend to pick up. However, when the call was taken, it wasn't by the one he expected.

"Arthur speaking. Francis is a bit pre-occupied at the moment. Can I take a message?"

"What are you doing at Frenchie's place, Artie?" Gilbert teased. He chuckled as he heard a distinct sigh at the other end of the line.

"None of your business Gilbert. Just some work."

There was a pause where Arthur could be heard shouting at someone, and Gilbert had to take the handset away from his ear when an annoying crashing sound reached him. After some fumbling the Englishman's voice returned.

"Gilbert? My apologies, I dropped the phone. Now, about that message?" He sounded a bit disgruntled, but couldn't hide the fact that he was panting.

"Can you just give me Francis for a moment? It won't take long."

"Get your bloody hands off me, I'm taking your stupid calls for you, you wanker! Sorry Gil, what was that?"

Gilbert repeated his previous question, while wondering just what on earth was happening at France's house.

"He-ah! Sorry Gilbert, but no can do. Some of us do have important business to attend to, other than you."

Gilbert felt a powerful flare of indignity rising up, and could only barely stop himself from hissing "And whose fault is that?!" And he was pretty sure the 'important business' England was talking about, involved France, himself, and a lot of nudity, if the barely disguised moaning in his ear was anything to go by.

"Gotta go, you can try calling back at aaaaaaaaaah a later hour, okay?" And with another curse and a distant "Ohonhonhon~", the call was ended.

Gilbert glared at the phone. Not only didn't France even have the decency to stop flirting when someone was calling, he ignored one of his best friends for some stupid Brit!

But he couldn't get that one comment out of his head.

"Some of us have work to do my ass," he grumbled, curling up on the couch and staring out into the distance. He hated to admit it, but he would actually love to do some work right now.

"Piyo?"

Gilbert smiled as he petted his little bird.

"Tonio and Francy-pants were a bit… 'busy', Gilbird. Guess it's just you and me tonight huh?"

A sudden feeling of loneliness welled up in his chest, and he had to hold in his breath in order not to start sobbing.

His best friends were both too busy for him. Everyone thought he was just a lazy asshole with too much free time (which, by the way, was totally _their_ fault). And he was alone. All by himself.

Spain had Belgium, France either had a lot of girls or England (if he wasn't being a total tsundere), his childhood friend Hungary had Austria, heck, even Russia had someone (there was no denying the chemistry between him and America, he'd lived in Russia's house and found more than enough evidence).

And Gilbert himself? He had nobody. The only one he was in love with, loved his little brother.

It was hopeless.

He was alone, he wasn't even a country anymore, he was forced to live out his life as an immortal without any of the cool privileges, he had lost his sole purpose, his people, his heart and soul and flag and _everything_. He was a wanderer with a forced smile, not human, not a nation, nothing at all. He belonged nowhere, and nobody belonged to him. The fire in his eyes and heart was dying, the eagle had long since left his side.

He was pathetic.

Knowing nobody was there to judge him, Gilbert pulled a pillow to his chest, and for the first time in a long while, he cried his heart out. Gilbird worriedly tried to soothe him, but to no avail. All the bird could do was fly around in circles, chirp in a high-pitched tone of distress, and sit down on its master's head. Gilbert wouldn't let himself be comforted tonight.

The former Prussian was so lost in his self-pity, that he didn't hear the ringing of the doorbell.

* * *

Italy Romano impatiently checked his watch (Armani), his boots clicking on the ground. He hadn't come all the way over here just to stand outside of some Kraut's doorway, dammit! If it weren't for his little brother calling and pleading for him to accompany that potato bastard's sibling for the night, he would have been at home right now, taking a nice nap.

But no. Instead he was standing here, doing his brother a favour, an act coming straight from his heart, and that bastard didn't even open the fucking door. He gave up on ringing the doorbell and tried slamming the wood instead.

"Oi! Are you gonna let me in or do I have to break down the windows, you bastardo!"

No answer. Southern Italy sighed and dragged a hand through his dark brown bangs, carefully avoiding the curl sprouting from the top of his head. If Gilbert wasn't going to let him in, then he just had to do it himself.

Remembering the spare key that idiotic potato eater hid in a secret compartment of his mailbox, Romano carefully took it out and opened the door. With a few hurried steps he crossed the hallway, after which he burst into the living room.

"Oi, you jerk! You're supposed to open the door when I- when I…" His jaw didn't so much drop as plummet, the moment he caught sight of the person he was told to visit.

Gilbert was lying on the couch in a foetal position, pale hands tightly gripping a pillow, entire body trembling as long-stretched sobs wreaked through his body, eyes red-rimmed and puffy.

"Gilbert?" Romano asked, not sure this was truly happening. It couldn't be. That had to be an imposter. Or was it April Fools already?

Gilbert looked up at the mention of his name, still wailing like a child. He tried to hold it back, not wanting anyone to see him like this, but it was simply impossible to stop now that he'd started. So he hid his face in his soft lifebelt and kept crying.

Romano awkwardly shuffled his feet. He was uncertain of what to do: leave or stay?

"Hey Prussia, what the fuck are you crying about?"

An extra loud sob escaped at hearing his former name.

"N-not Prussia anymore…" he mumbled, before letting out a hiccup.

A flash of recognition shot over the Italian's face. So that was it. Prussia was crying because he was Eastern Germany now, no longer a country of his own. Romano closed the remaining distance between him and the bawling ex-nation.

But instead of a comforting hug or a pat on the back, Gilbert got smacked in the face.

The albino fell off of the couch in an unruly mess of limbs, Gilbird flying up and chirping indignantly. Gilbert blinked his teary crimson eyes, completely dumbfounded.

"What was-"

"Stop crying like a sissy, you bastardo!"

With one hand Romano dragged the other up by his collar, bringing their faces close. His mouth was tight, eyebrows furrowed angrily.

"You're not the only one who's only half a country," he hissed.

Gilbert froze. There were still some lone tears streaming down his cheeks, but his little emotional breakdown had literally been beaten out of him.

He had totally forgotten about Southern Italy. Maybe there was someone who understood after all.

"Get up."

Romano gave him almost no time to clean or cheer up, forcing him into his jacket and herding him to the front door.

"Where are we going?" the albino asked, voice uncharacteristically soft and a bit hoarse.

"A bar. You look like you need some time away from this junk."

And to the bar they went, the Italian and the ex-Prussian, one dazed and a bit slumped over, the other holding head up high and taking angry, determined steps.

* * *

"I was afraid I'd disappear, the day of my dissolution."

The two men were seated at a table in a dark corner of a nearly empty bar. The bartender didn't question Gilbert's miserable appearance or Romano's furious vibes, not even the yellow chick following them around, wisely keeping his mouth shut and providing them with wine and beer.

Romano nodded, letting his eyes wander over some girls crossing the dim-lighted room.

"Can't imagine what that must feel like. But you must've been pretty damn terrified."

Gilbert smiled a sarcastic little grin, for once not having to keep up appearances. Romano had already seen him at his worst, he didn't have to pretend to be happy when he felt like shit.

"What pushed you over the edge tonight?" the Italian asked, leaning forward on his folded hands.

Gilbert shrugged.

"Everything just came together, I guess. Me not being a country anymore, the guys were too busy for me, maybe a bit jealous of West, Feli-"

He quickly shut up when he realized he'd almost spilled his secret. But Romano smiled wryly, a look of understanding in his eyes of dark amber.

"Everybody loves Feliciano. He's so adorable, so funny, so sweet and nice and fucking perfect. He's also the reason I came over tonight, you know? Said he didn't want you to get lonely. But he's also one of the biggest airheads, most of the time. Don't know what he sees in the potato bastard either, and I will never understand how they even got together."

A quick sip of wine.

"But there's other fish out there, you know. Less frustrating fish, fish that will make you a lot happier."

Gilbert took another swig from his near-empty glass. How had they gotten onto the topic of fish again? Everything was beginning to get a little blurry with the rising amount of alcohol in his blood.

"Like who?"

Romano shrugged.

"The fuck do I know, you jerk. I'm just trying to cheer you up here. If it were really that easy, do you think I'd still be single?"

They stared at each other for a short while, before Gilbert let out a barking laugh. He laid his head down on the table and sighed.

"You have a really weird way of cheering people up, you know?"

The Italian studied his nails.

"Never said I was any good at it. But I did manage to make you laugh, didn't I?"

Gilbert sent him a thankful smile, a real one. Southern Italy didn't answer it, but his mouth did twitch as he brought his glass to his lips.

Later, or perhaps earlier, as the sun was already beginning to rise again, the two lazily swayed home, arms around the other's waist as they sung (loudly yet surprisingly hitting the right notes). Romano dragged Gilbert up the stairs and dropped him onto his bed, still scowling but with a heavy burst of liquor colouring his cheeks red.

"Danke, Spatz," Gilbert grinned, trying to focus on the Italian (or were there two?) standing next to his bed.

Romano waved at him, slowly making his way back to the door. He stopped and turned around one final time before disappearing.

"And remember, _Prussia_. You're not alone. You're still existing, even though everyone thought you were done for. That's got to count for something, right?"

He sounded frighteningly sober while saying that, his eyes holding a glare to them that cut straight to Gilbert's inner core. The albino had to say something to hold back the sudden happy giggle trying to bubble up.

"You're not gonna stay?"

Romano showed him his middle finger, but he did blush a bit darker at his words.

"Forget about it, you jerk."

As he turned around again and left Gilbert to his own devices, the albino couldn't help but notice the smile pulling at the other's lips.

Gilbert felt himself slowly slipping away into unconsciousness, a lot more at peace than he had been in a long time. One final thought crossed his mind.

Maybe Romano was right. Maybe Feliciano wasn't the right fish for him.

Maybe he needed someone who understood him, who had the same amount of fire, who could remind him that he was awesome enough to defy the very laws of existence.

Someone with a little more spice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Words:  
> Ciao: Hi  
> Bruder: Brother  
> Kleine Engel: Little angel  
> Hola: Hi  
> Amigo: Friend  
> Danke: Thanks  
> Spatz: Sparrow


	2. Chapter 2

Once a month, two specific men could be seen in a boot of the dimly lit bar. One of them had grey hair, almost white even, a proud stance despite his very annoying laughter and shouting, and eyes so piercing red you could only be intimidated by them, until you got to know him better. The other had a healthy tan, an odd curl sprouting from the top of his head, a surprisingly slender figure while still being one hundred percent manly, and eyes which reminded of olives and hard work under the sun and life by the seaside all at once.

They were an odd pair, these two. They always came the last Friday of the month, and always ordered the same thing (the finest Italian wine they owned and beer in the tallest glass they could find). Then they talked. Just talked. For hours and hours, letting both the liquor and words flow, the albino sometimes giving drinks when a German entered the bar (and only when it was a German, as if he knew just by looking at him), the other complaining loudly about everything he could lay his eyes upon, but apparently it wasn't bad enough to make him leave.

Yes, an odd pair indeed. They would stay all night long, sometimes getting drunk, sometimes not, and by the time the owner had to close the establishment, they left in a strangely chipper mood, arms casually slung around each other's shoulder and singing about tomatoes and birds.

People left them alone. They didn't hurt anybody, and were nice enough to clean after them if they ended up making a mess. The other customers even enjoyed that little yellow chick the red-eyed man always brought with him, as it flew around their heads and finally settled in the fern in the corner. On top of that, there was this strange atmosphere around them, as if they were superior somehow. The people instinctively knew not to mess with the two, so that they wouldn't mess with them either.

This was another of those days. Right on cue they had entered the bar and made for their boot. They sat down, ordered the usual, and began talking. The Italian swirled his drink around in his glass, watching the red liquid cling to its sides as if trying to hold onto a lifebelt. He glanced over at the other, seeing him down his first glass in one big gulp, his adam's apple bobbing with every time he swallowed.

"Take it easy, you beer addict. We've only just arrived," the man known as Italy Romano commented.

Gilbert (no longer known as Prussia, but still refusing to use the name East Germany, at least when he wasn't within his brother's close vicinity so as not to hurt his feelings) set the jug down with a loud jingle of glass hitting wood, and smacked his lips in satisfaction.

"Give me a break, Lovino. West was nagging at me all day for getting in the way, and I am desperate for a beer now."

He made a signal at the bartender, who immediately came over with a fresh pint. Romano crossed his legs and leant back, sighing when Gilbird the chick landed on top of his head.

"Oi, how many times have I told you my head is not a nest? Get off, you tiny bastard!"

Gilbert snickered as the bird listened and flew over to its owner instead.

"Gilbird just likes you, Lovi!" he said, letting the chick nuzzle his cheek and sending the other a teasing grin.

"Don't call me that," Romano growled. "It's bad enough that my stupid little brother and the tomato-bastard call me that, you will not do the same."

Gilbert raised his hands as a sign of surrender.

"Just joking around! Don't get angry, Engel. We're here to vent, not to piss each other off."

Romano huffed and took another sip of wine, letting the alcohol relax the tension in his shoulders. He too needed some time away from his so-called family, if only for one night a month. It was enough to recharge.

The further into the night they went, the more relaxed both nations got. The conversations about everything bothering them about their siblings quickly evolved into a discussion on Germany and Northern Italy's relationship.

"West really needs to grow a pair, you know?" Gilbert said, some beer sloshing over the rim of his jug. "It's so obvious Feli adores him, and he does too, but what does he do? He just chickens out every single time they get a chance to deepen their relationship. Heck, as far as I know they haven't even kissed yet!"

Romano growled from where he had laid his head upon the table.

"The damn potato bastard better not hurt Veneziano's feelings! The boy is such an airhead, he might mistake the idiot's behaviour for him not being interested!"

"Hey, that's my little bro you're calling an idiot," Gilbert said, but with a teasing grin pulling at his lips. "Besides, didn't you hate him? Then wouldn't you be happier if they didn't get together?"

Romano shrugged. "'Course I hate him. But Feliciano likes him for some reason, and I guess I hate my brother a little less when he's happy."

"Got a soft spot for Feli after all?"

"Shut up."

Some more time passed. At one point, Gilbert had dragged himself on top of the table and was trying to lift the other up as well, proclaiming he wanted to dance.

"Let go, you bastard!" Romano grumbled, weakly pulling back.

"Sir… Could you please get off of the table? I don't know if the boss would like this…"

"Ah, no problem! He's chill, don't worry!" Gilbert said, words slightly slurred. He finally succeeded in pulling the Italian up, but used a little too much force, sending them both to the ground.

"Are you two all right?"

Gilbert simply laughed as Romano cursed profoundly. No worries, everything was all right. And he would definitely pay for that table.

The rest of the night went by in a blur of alcohol, laughter, and music, and Gilbert could distinctly remember himself doing a tricky tango with the stubborn Italian at one point, and hearing the other giggle in a suppressed musical tone.

Now, he found himself in his brother's room, for some reason digging through his stuff. Gilbird had fallen asleep on top of his head.

"What are you doin'?" Romano asked, lazily splayed across the bed (after kicking Germany's garden gnomes and vomiting over his shoes in the hallway, eat that potato bastard).

"I want proof that I raised him well. That I… That I…" Gilbert frowned, loosing track of his words. It was rather hard to focus on anything at all, thoughts slipping from his mind as soon as they were created.

"Pssh. The fuck does that matter? I never had to concern myself much over Veneziano, and he turned out jussss fine. Bit stupid maybe, but not a bad guy."

Gilbert paused, looking at the neatly folded shirt he was holding. His hands were trembling. Why were they trembling? Why were they… Were they…

"Oi, Prussia. You okay?"

The albino didn't need to turn around to be able to feel that intense gaze resting on the back of his head.

"I just want him to be… good, you know? No, not good. Better. Better than me. I want West to be able to live a better life than me."

Romano didn't speak as his entire figure began trembling, his voice sounding hoarse and thick.

"I… I'm so proud of him. Every fucking day. But I just have to know. Did I do a good job? Is he- Is he happy? Will he survive longer than I did? Excel, rise above me? Will he be able to make it to the history books as the most awesome little bro that has ever existed?"

The sound of blankets rustling, a thud, a curse, footsteps, and suddenly there was a warm body sitting next to his.

"…What are you doing?" Gilbert asked, turning to curiously look at the other. Romano's cheeks were a nice pink.

"Just trying to make you shut up," the brunette mumbled, locking his eyes with something Gilbert couldn't see from where he sat. "You start blabbering like a fool when you're too far gone. Don't want you to. Want you to, to be a happy drunk. Like earlier."

The pink changed to a bright red, and Southern Italy ducked his head in stubborn embarrassment.

"Spain got like that too, sometimes. Doesn't suit him. At all. Doesn't suit you either. Just… Know you've done a good job, okay? And don't you fucking forget."

A warm fluttering filled his chest, and Gilbert smiled. He playfully bumped his shoulder against the other's, laughing breathlessly when Romano elbowed him back.

"Danke, Engel. You've done a great job too. With Feliciano, I mean."

The Italian grumbled something incomprehensible, but smiled nonetheless.

"I want that too, you know? For my brother to have a good future. But all the same, I don't. Because…"He bit his lips, and Gilbert placed an arm around his shoulder.

"Because you don't want them to forget you."

Romano shrugged, a short and shaky jerking up and down of the shoulders. He still didn't dare to make eye contact.

"You won't be forgotten, Lovino. I promise."

There was more he wanted to say, so much more, but all of a sudden they could hear voices outside.

"Guess they're back," Gilbert sighed, for some reason feeling both relieved and disappointed. He helped the Italian stand (and wasn't entirely upset when the man staggered against him for support), and they walked over to the window. There, they froze.

Outside, right in front of the front door, stood Northern Italy and Germany. Tangled together in what could only be a very passionate kiss, or one of them had decided to turn cannibal.

Gilbert barked out a laugh as Romano cursed.

"Guess we don't have to worry about them giving each other mixed signals anymore!" the ex-Prussian snickered, while the other kept up his mantra of "I'm gonna fucking kill that bastard!"

He should have felt sad to see his long-time love in the arms of another, but for some reason, he couldn't be any happier at the moment. His brother's happiness was more important than his own.

And as he walked behind Romano, who was furiously stomping down the stairs, and Gilbert had to catch him when he threatened to fall, and he all but dragged the Italian down the remaining steps, and the warmth in his chest didn't leave when Romano took hold of his hand so as not to fall again, he thought to himself:

' _This isn't all that bad.'_


	3. Chapter 3

Something was wrong with Romano. Gilbert could tell as soon as the Italian showed up on their doorstep late at night, soaked wet by the rain and unable to speak.

"East? What is going on down there?"

"Don't worry West, just go back to sleep. I'll take care of it."

Gilbert laid a hand on the small of the other's back and guided him to the living room. Romano didn't say a thing as the ex-Prussian softly pushed him down onto the couch, left for a short moment, and returned with a towel. Gilbert sat down next to him and began rubbing the towel over his hair and face, gently. Following the curve of his face, watching as those greenish golden eyes teared up and finally overflowed. Gilbert also didn't miss the red flush on his cheeks, indicating the Italian was probably a bit drunk. He didn't reek of it, but that wasn't necessary.

"What's wrong, Spatz? Come on, you can tell me."

Romano looked away, as if embarrassed by this sudden display of emotions. Ever stubborn, he took a moment to choke back the tears before speaking up.

"I was visiting Spain, but his girlfriend came over. Again. And he embarrassed me in front of her. Again. And then we went drinking, and he said something stupid, and I guess I sort of… hit him."

A flash of pain shot over his face, and he worried his lower lip.

"I didn't mean to, but it happened anyway. And then he looked at me like… as if he saw me for the first time. The real me. Not the child that lived with him. And then I realized. He never wanted me to grow up. He hates the person that I've become."

Gilbert didn't hesitate before pulling the other into a tight hug. Romano buried his face in his shirt, and the albino stroked his back.

"He doesn't hate you Spatz, don't think that. Antonio might be a bit of an airhead sometimes, but he's not that stupid that he would think you're still a child."

"Then why can't he ever take me serious?!" Romano growled, sentence breaking in weird places. "Why can't anyone take me serious? Why is it always Feliciano this and Feliciano that, but whenever I am around they just act like I'm unwanted, an annoying presence that's just sort of there?!"

"You're not unwanted here," Gilbert whispered, voice uncharacteristically quiet. "You're never unwanted here, Lovino. Don't you forget."

The brunette didn't answer to that. Maybe he hadn't heard, or maybe he was too tired to speak. Romano kept crying until every last tear was spilled, and after that he just left himself slump in Gilbert's hold, let himself be caressed and comforted.

They watched a film afterwards, some silly comedy to take their mind off things. Gilbert insisted that the Italian stayed in Berlin for the night, and made the guest room for him. Then he went to bed himself, but couldn't find sleep for quite some time. His mouth tasted bitter, and worry coiled in his stomach. And there was something else, something he didn't have a name for. Something that made it impossible for him to get the other's face out of his head, something that made him want to get back out there and hold him again.

Something extremely painful, something reminding him of the time right after his Fall. But warm and tingly all the same.

With those mixed feelings and thoughts, he finally dozed off, but not for long.

Gilbert had a very strange dream that night. In the dream, he could hear the door to his basement room creak open and a person sneaking in. He could feel warmth as said person crept into his bed beside him, and called his name. In the dream, that person kissed him, and it felt so desperate and needy yet so gentle that his stomach squeezed together in a weird way. But the strangest thing of all was that the other was crying, and he only spoke one sentence before leaving his dream again.

"You fucking bastard… How dare you be kind to me…"

* * *

Something was wrong with Romano. Gilbert could see it, feel it.

Ever since that one night he had come to his house, the Italian had become quieter, more distant, always looking like he wanted to say something before turning away with a deep and troubled frown. Gilbert hated seeing him like that. After all that Romano had done for him, he felt like he needed to do something back.

Romano meant too much to him not to care.

"Where are you taking me?" Southern Italy grumbled.

"You'll see Engel!" the ex-Prussian laughed.

They were walking up a hill, twilight painting the sky a lovely pink and orange. After an hour of their usual drinking at the bar, Gilbert had suddenly said he wanted to go somewhere. Now he was dragging the other along, keeping a firm hold on his hand. They were both already a little intoxicated, but were still able to think clearly.

"Look, we're here!" the excitable albino announced. Romano sullenly looked up, eyes widening when he found a red-and-white striped blanket, a basket filled with tomatoes and a nice bottle of Merlot, and rose petals scattered all across the hilltop.

"Don't look at the roses," Gilbert grumbled, cheeks tainted a faint pink. "I asked Francis to help set up a nice spot to look at the sunset, and he must've done it after I left."

Romano said nothing. The crease between his eyebrows grew heavier, even as he let himself be pulled down onto the blanket. He stubbornly remained silent while the other poured them both a glass of wine, only muttering a small thank you when his glass was handed to him.

Gilbert secretly watched him from the corner of his eye. Looked at the pensive expression he sported, the soft glow of the sunset on his tanned cheeks and hair, the worry written all over his eyes of green and brown.

"There's something bothering you," he stated more than asked.

The Italian flinched, shooting him a swift glance before looking away again.

"Nothing important," he murmured, taking a quick sip of his wine to try and avoid this conversation.

"Yes, it is," Gilbert insisted. "You once said you don't like me when I'm depressed. Well, I don't like you when you're all quiet. It doesn't suit you, Engel."

"…Stop calling me that. Please."

"What, Engel?"

Romano's lips tugged downwards in response.

"Why? What is wrong with me calling you that?"

"Because I'm not a fucking angel, okay!" the brunette spat, furiously locking his eyes with the tips of his pointed boots. "Feliciano is! It's always him! He's the one everyone likes, he's the one everyone adores. So stop trying to compare me with him! I'm not an angel, and never will be! Stop trying to make me fucking replace my stupid little brother!"

He was panting a little after that outburst, salty tears streaming down his eyes. Gilbert was shocked, for more than one reason. He gripped the other's shoulders tightly, not letting go when he tried to squirm his way out of the hold.

"Lovino," he said, and his soft voice made the Italian give up his struggle.

"You really think I see you as a replacement for Feli? After all this time we spent together, you really think that?"

"Of course I do!" the other growled, looking him dead in the eye with an unexpected fierceness, further accentuated by the tears blurring the outlines of his irises.

"You were in love with him, still are as far as I know! Why else would you treat me the way you do? Take me in, be nice to me? It's because I remind you of him, admit it!"

Gilbert let out a soft noise and pulled the other into an embrace. At first Romano tried to push him away with all his might, but soon he was unable to do anything other than cling to him. Gilbert soothingly stroked his back as wretched sobs quaked through his body, lightly rocking him sideways.

He wanted to tell him he was wrong.

Prove that he hadn't thought about Veneziano like that for a long time.

God, how he wanted to kiss all his doubts away.

Gilbert paused, sudden realization hitting him like a freight train. Or not that sudden, as if he'd somehow known all along.

Holding that warm body close, feeling a strange fluttering in his chest as a hand found its way to his scalp, fingers burying themselves in his whitish hair.

"Lovino…"

His voice sounded strangely hoarse, causing the other to look up. Romano's heart sped up at seeing the whirling emotions in those ruby red jewels, half-hooded and smouldering.

"You kissed me that night, didn't you?"

The brunette's face went beet red, heart dancing at the speed of light by now.

"N-no!" he sputtered, blush spreading to his ears and neck when the albino came just that much closer.

"Gilbert, don't you dare!" he hissed (and Gilbert inched even closer, able to taste the alcohol in his breath now). "Don't you fucking dare! I swear, if you kiss me, I'll-"

His sentence was cut off as chapped lips were forcefully planted on top of his own. His protests were forgotten as he kissed back with all the fire he had left, salty wetness drying up on his overheated cheeks. It didn't last long, but it meant more to him than he would ever admit.

Gilbert pulled back, lovingly stroking his cheek.

"Lovino. I have not once thought you are the same as your brother. You think I would have shown you my weaknesses like that if I did?"

The Italian was speechless, mouth opening and closing without any sounds leaving him. Gilbert leant forward and placed a soft kiss on his forehead.

"You are not forgotten, Schatz. I am not nice to you out of sympathy or pity. I am nice because I truly want to, because you deserve it."

Romano still hadn't said a thing. Slowly, carefully, as if this was all just a dream, he bent over and let his head rest on the albino's shoulder. Gilbert grinned, the fluttering in his stomach increasing when he felt lips on the section dividing his shoulder and his upper arm.

"What does Schatz mean?" Romano asked, voice soft and almost inaudible.

Gilbert smiled as he plucked a tiny little flower from the grass, a little blue forget-me-not he'd somehow overlooked up 'til now.

"It means 'treasure'," he whispered, placing the flower behind Romano's ear.


End file.
